


A Distant Memory of Summer

by PurrfecktlySinful



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and more fluff, Fontcest, M/M, Papyrus is a mortal, Sans is a god, though technically they're not related, with a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurrfecktlySinful/pseuds/PurrfecktlySinful
Summary: Sans is a waning god who lives by himself at his abandoned shrine, until one day he has an unexpected guest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired and based on art by [Symphysins](http://symphysins.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for her Deity Sans. The moment I saw their art for this I kinda lost it and HAD to write something. (+_+)
> 
> Specific pieces used for inspiration are [HERE](http://symphysins.tumblr.com/post/154773665871/a-deity-and-his-favorite-mortal-this-is-just-an) and [HERE](http://symphysins.tumblr.com/post/155564675266/its-not-really-much-but-have-these-other-doods).
> 
> This is mostly an excuse for me to mix mythology and fluff. At this time there are no plans for smut (that may change depending on where my writing leads me).

He was a very interesting mortal.

The first time Sans saw him it was a surprise. No one had visited in decades. He figured SOMEONE must still believe in him somewhere, otherwise he’d have faded away and disappeared long ago. Whoever they were, they were either too old to make the journey or didn't care enough to bother.

Sans was pretty philosophical about the whole thing, actually. After all, he had lived a long time, seen many things, had a pretty full life as far as the lives of gods went. He was well aware that it was only natural for gods to come and go as mortal memories and values shifted and changed. Sans honestly couldn't remember when he last had a visitor. Even the path leading up to the small mountaintop his shrine sat on was poorly kept and almost invisible beneath the overgrowth.

So when the hapless, bumbling skeleton monster stumbled out of the forest and into the open, Sans was understandably caught off guard.

It was a beautiful late spring day. Sans was napping on the roof of his small shrine, the sun warming his bones, when he heard the commotion-- a series of exclamations, snapping branches and rustling undergrowth coming from the far end of the clearing. Startled by the sudden noises, Sans sat up just in time to see a figure burst, flailing, out of the foliage. The monster froze, pop-eyed, just as surprised to find a break in the forest as Sans was to see him emerge. He straightened and allowed his gaze to rove over the small clearing, taking in it's broken cobbles, crumbling statuary and the single, small wooden shrine, bug-eaten and leaning slightly on its supports.

The expression on his face was priceless.

Sans chuckled, amused.

Well this was certainly new. He leisurely rose to his feet and, without blinking, stepped off the roof. As he floated softly to the ground below, a slight breeze ruffled the veil he wore, a pleasant tickling against his bones. The sensation brought with it the familiar smell of greenery and wildflowers that surrounded his home. He approached his guest, raising his hand in a casual greeting.

"hey, buddy... 'sup?"

The skeleton didn’t react, continuing to stare around him with open curiosity and wonder. His eyes glossed right over Sans, failing to focus on him properly as he examined his new surroundings.

Ah. So the newcomer couldn’t see him.

Despite the fact that he should have expected it, Sans still felt a small pang grip his soul. Even in his heyday there hadn’t been many that could see or speak with him, and that number had declined drastically with the mortals’ belief in him. The last person that could see him… who was it again? Oh yes! It had been a young noble lady, white furred and soft spoken. At first she had come to consult him on some matter or another, but they had quickly become friends, and she used to visit often.

Sans remembered how they would pass the time together, sharing amiable conversation, laughing together at puns and knock knock jokes. Sans would sit just inside the small room behind the main shrine, leaning against the wall, tapping the worn wood behind him with one bony knuckle as they played their game.

The last time he had seen her, she had told him of her upcoming marriage. Her rich voice had been filled with a warmth that made Sans truly happy for her, despite knowing that she would no longer have the time to come visit. They had shared one more joke before she had left.

“knock knock…”

“Who’s there?”

“mayu”

“Mayu who?”

“…mayu always be happy, and your marriage blessed.”

“Oh, Sans. Thank you… So, so much.”

“…”

That had been a long, long time ago.

Sans was brought back to the present when his visitor suddenly decided to speak out loud.

“THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT WHERE I MEANT TO END UP,” the skeleton declared to himself, rubbing at his chin. His expression was thoughtful at first, but then brightened a moment later. Sans couldn’t help but smile again as he saw the stranger's eyes light up with excitement. “BUT THIS IS A MOST INTERESTING PLACE REGARDLESS! I THINK I’LL HAVE A LOOK AROUND! THIS IS AN ADVENTURE THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN'T AFFORD TO PASS UP!”

Sans' eye lights sparkled with amusement. Papyrus it was, then.

Sans followed Papyrus as he explored, and stopped to marvel at various points of interest around the small shrine. Even though he knew he couldn't be heard, Sans decided to have some fun by providing the grand tour, regardless.

"ah... that's just the water pump," Sans said as Papyrus examined the rusty contraption set into the stone basin next to the path. "heh. hasn't worked in ages, but visitors and the priest who used to live here used it to purify themselves before entering the shrine. not that i minded much one way or the other how clean folks were." Sans shrugged.

Papyrus reached out and took the handle, giving it a few pumps and coming up with nothing but the creak of rusted joints and a sad puff of dust from the spout. Sans watched with curiosity as Papyrus continued to examine the device for a few more moments, following the pipe through the solid stone that made up the basin and then down into the ground. He made the occasional hum of thought or small noise of understanding as he appeared to make sense out of one thing or another that Sans couldn't see. Finally satisfied with his investigation, Papyrus stood, and after looking around for a moment, wandered over to the small pond on the other side of the path.

It was a peaceful little space. A willow on the forest side leaned over the pool, its drooping branches brushing the water below, creating small ruffles and ripples in the surface with its leaves each time the wind blew. It was an ancient tree, present from the shrine's early days, and was twisted and gnarled in that majestic way that could only be seen in the oldest of their kind. The pleasant twitters and chirps of birdsong could be heard from above, a soothing accompaniment to the warm sun and gentle breeze, making this one of Sans' favorite napping spots. A marble bench, worn but still largely intact, sat nearby, providing a quiet area for rest and meditation for those who wanted it.

Ignoring the bench, Papyrus approached the edge of the pond and kneeled to peer into the murky water.

"that's the fish pond," Sans explained. "it's supposed to have fish, but haven't really seen any in a while…"

The last priest that lived at the shrine had taken great pride in the pond and had cared for it meticulously, using a tool he had made himself out of a pole and extra fine fishnet. He would skim the worst of the algae from the surface in smooth confident swipes, revealing the shimmering depths beneath. He used to tell Sans how important it was, that doing that would keep the algae from taking over the pond and killing the fish within. 

Sans remembered seeing them, flickering and flashing beneath the surface in their silvery whites, oranges, and reds. He even recalled how the priest used to give visiting children bits of food to throw into the water. It had been so much fun to watch the pond boil and churn with dozens of scaly bodies as the children shrieked with delight.

However, after the priest had passed away, it had gone untended. Slowly, as time elapsed and the rest of the world moved on, algae had choked the water, making it murky and dim. Sans had felt a deep sense of sadness as he had gone from seeing dozens of fish... to only a few... and now...

He doubted there were any left.

Papyrus continued to stare at the water, remaining still for a long time, his eyes scanning the surface as though trying to find something. Sans, wondering what he was looking for, leaned in over his shoulder to see.

At that moment, the sun emerged from behind a cloud, illuminating the pond at just the right angle and throwing Sans' reflection into sharp relief.

Their eyes met.

Papyrus' eye ridges shot up in surprise and he whirled around to look behind him. The sudden reaction made Sans stumble backwards a step, his breath catching and soul leaping under his ribs. There was no doubt in his mind.

Papyrus had seen him.

Whatever indescribable emotion had begun to bubble up within Sans' soul at the realization died as Papyrus' eyes once more skimmed right over him, seeing nothing but empty air where he stood. A cloud scudded back over the sun, and when Papyrus turned back to look at the surface of the pond, it had gone dark.

Sans took another step back, putting distance between himself and the edge of the water, his expression unreadable.

"THAT WAS ODD," Papyrus mused "I COULD HAVE SWORN..."

"just your imagination, buddy," Sans said, his voice soft and distant.

Except it wasn't. For that brief moment, Papyrus HAD seen him. That meant he was sensitive to the unseen, that he could perceive spiritual things more closely than other mortals.

At one time that may have meant something.

But not anymore.

Because despite that sensitivity, all Papyrus had caught was a glimpse, a brief flash that he likely wasn't even sure he had seen.

Had the mortals' memory of him faded so much? Sans guessed it must have.

After a few more moments of silence, Papyrus rose and moved toward the main building. To Sans' surprise, rather than go straight in, he wandered in a circuit around the outside walls. His eyes scanned the leaning structure, noting the worn, worm-eaten state of the lumber, the tattered edges of the roof’s overhang, and the single cracked and broken window in the back. At the rear of the building he spotted a chest, battered and weatherworn, but still sturdy and whole. Opening the lid, he took quick stock of the limited tools within, and Sans wondered briefly if he would take some of them with him when he left.

Sans didn't mind. They weren't getting much use here, after all.

Papyrus gazed inside for a few moments before carefully closing the chest. Standing up, he continued his walk around the building. On reaching the far side, he paused briefly to blink at the overgrown flowerbed, a sad mess of confused greenery that meandered as though it wasn’t sure what direction to grow in. 

The small garden used to be home to some of Sans' favorite flowers. It had been full of different varieties of peonies, forget-me-nots, and periwinkle, with ambitious morning glories climbing the trellis against the wall behind them. What had formerly been a beautiful explosion of color now only peeked through in tiny, sporadic bursts, muted and overshadowed by the strangling weeds and chaos that had invaded.

Once he completed his walk around and came back to the front of the building, Papyrus examined the hopelessly stuck sliding door. The lean of the building had long ago jammed it open at an angle in its track. He ran his hand over the solid wood of the frame, taking in every detail in thoughtful silence. Sans wondered what exactly he was thinking for a few moments before giving it up. Who EVER knew what mortals were thinking? Certainly not him.

"and this is home sweet home..." Sans continued as Papyrus finally stepped over the threshold into the small building, eyeing the gaping holes in the roof with a grim expression as he entered. Sans gave a resigned smile and shrugged. "yeah, i know, it's a real dump, but it's what i've got to work with."

He watched, strangely uneasy, as Papyrus approached the solitary statue sitting against the far wall.

Set at about eye level on a raised platform stood a wind and rain worn figure carved from stone. The elements had smoothed its surface so that the face was nearly featureless, only the shadow of a smile remaining on the worn visage. Ridged and scalloped edges around the head gave the impression of what might have been a veil and only one of the two magnificent, proud antlers remained intact, the other broken off halfway down. At the base of each antler were a few small knobby lumps that were supposed to be flowers—the very same variety of peonies that used to grow in the disused garden.

Sans reached up, his fingertips brushing over the soft petals at the base of his antlers.

It really had been a long time, hadn’t it? So very long.

In front of the statue was a raised altar, a flat surface upon which visitors used to put small gifts to him. Flowers… food… incense… coin… a variety of things. Sans had no use for many of these things himself, but it had gone a long way toward making the priest’s life manageable when one was still living here.

Leaning in over the stone slab, Papyrus ran his fingers along the weatherworn surface of the statue, tracing the lines and curves, gazing with rapt interest at the faded visage etched into the stone face. His phalanges trailed up to the single antler at the top, running along the dips, curves and branches of it, the thoughtful look still on his face.

“SO THIS IS _YOUR_ HOME, THEN,” he murmured.

Sans watched, puzzled. What was so fascinating about the decrepit statue of a useless, nearly dead god?

He never could understand mortals.

Backing away a few steps, Papyrus lowered himself till he was sitting on the dirty and rotting floor. He stared at the grime with a grimace, realizing there was no avoiding it. Sans wandered over to recline on the raised platform next to the statue, leaning against the base and looking his visitor over more closely.

He was tall, and he was a skeleton. Sans had already noticed that much. He wore the plain, rough cloth of a peasant, well cared for and clean, which spoke to an unusually fastidious nature that Sans wasn’t used to seeing in those of Papyrus’ rank. His face wrinkled in concentration as he fiddled with the cloth-wrapped satchel he had been carrying around with him. With a pleased sound, he finally managed to get his long fingers around the difficult knot, unwrapping and pulling out a lacquered box.

“I WILL CERTAINLY HAVE TO TELL UNDYNE ABOUT THIS PLACE. MAYBE SHE’LL KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT IT.” Papyrus slid the lid off the top of the box to reveal a mess of noodles and sauce, apparently a packed meal of some kind. He continued to speak in between bites as he ate. “I HOPE SHE WON’T BE ANGRY AT ME FOR MISSING OUR TRAINING. I DIDN’T MEAN TO GET LOST ON THE WAY THERE, BUT IT WAS WORTH IT TO FIND SUCH AN INTERESTING PLACE! OH! YOU DON’T KNOW UNDYNE, DO YOU? WELL SHE’S…”

Papyrus continued to chatter as he ate. Sans was astonished that even though Papyrus couldn’t see him, he still addressed him as though he was actually present with him. 

Intrigued about his guest, Sans listened attentively. Papyrus talked about his modest little farm at the far side of the mountain, about how he dreamed of one day joining the Royal Guard. He regularly trained with one of their more prominent members, Undyne, to prepare himself for when they would need more recruits. Gesticulating expressively with his fork, he related how he had been running late, and, hoping it would work as a shortcut, had cut through the mountain, getting hopelessly lost before stumbling on his shrine…

The day was comfortable and temperate, the sunlight from outside filtering down through the holes in the roof to play on the floor. Sans watched the dust motes dance in the beams of light and the waving shadows of the leaves cast by the trees outside. The warm afternoon breeze sighing through the drafty building was pleasant and the constant, comforting drone of Papyrus’ voice filled Sans’ head with a pleasant, cottony feeling.

Sans wasn’t sure when he dozed off, but when he woke, the shadows had lengthened and the floorboards were dyed orange with the light of sunset. The warm breeze had been replaced by the colder temperatures of nighttime. The cool air brushed against Sans’ bones like a refreshing kiss, and he breathed deeply, enjoying the taste of it. The chorus of birds had gone quiet, to be replaced by the softer chirps of insects and the piping trills of the frogs that inhabited the pond.

He looked around him, suddenly concerned about his guest.

Only to find he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t particularly surprised. However, a small surge of disappointment washed over his soul. The mortal had been the most entertaining thing that had happened to him in decades. Even though he knew it was inevitable, the idea that his visit had ended so quickly was a little sad.

It made sense, though. The mountain forest could be dangerous when it was dark, and while Sans found his home pleasant, he knew most mortals were not pleased with the prospect of spending a night out in the open. Papyrus had likely found the overgrown path leading down toward the village and had taken it back home before too much daylight had been lost.

Well, now that it was dark, Sans could get some stargazing done. Despite his hundreds of years of existence, that activity never seemed to get boring.

As he turned to go, he caught a glimpse of something sitting on the altar out of the corner of his eye.

It was the box Papyrus had pulled out of his satchel earlier.

Curious, Sans approached the dais and examined the container that had been left behind. It was finely made, a very rare possession for someone of Papyrus’ standing to own, and was likely a family heirloom of some sort. By Sans’ assessment, it was worth quite a bit of money. The shining black surface was sleek and unblemished, with orange and teal bone patterns hand painted on it. Sans ran his hand across the lid of the box, openly admiring the craftsmanship.

Why in the name of the sun, moon, and stars did Papyrus leave this here? It didn’t seem likely he had forgotten it. Something this valuable didn’t just get FORGOTTEN like this.

He opened it.

The interior of the box was divided into two sections. Within the larger side was the remaining half-portion of Papyrus’ lunch. In the much narrower side was a small set of tin tableware—a fork, knife, and spoon clean and neatly arranged in the little compartment.

An offering. Papyrus had left an offering.

“heh.”

Sans picked up the container and gave the saucy, noodly mess inside a sniff. He wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, there was the thrill of knowing that the tall skeleton would be returning. There was no WAY he would leave something so valuable behind without meaning to come back for it.

On the other hand, he was mildly amused. He was a god, not a mortal. Back when there was a priest still living here, food offerings were one of the ways in which the they survived. They had depended on the kindness of the faithful as they committed themselves to their spiritual calling. Sans did not need food, drink, or even sleep. Physical sustenance meant nothing to him.

Sans stared thoughtfully at the container of food in his hand.

He ate it anyways.

He smiled. The taste was indescribable.

******************

Sans was idling the time away beneath his willow tree the next time Papyrus visited. It was cool there, the refreshing shade of the ancient tree shielding his bones from the hottest part of the day.

Papyrus was just as noisy in his approach as before, the crashing of underbrush and the sharp snaps of sticks under his feet marking his progress as he drew closer. Sans snapped out of his doze and watched with interest, his sleepy gaze following the sounds as though he could see the mortal just beyond the tree line.

If he had found the path back down to the village, why on Earth was he coming back up the way he had before? 

When Papyrus finally emerged from between the trees, Sans was surprised to see that not only was he was carrying a pack, but his arms were also full of boards and various other materials. Papyrus tottered awkwardly towards the small shrine and Sans spared a moment to wonder how he had gotten the entire mess up the mountainside without using any of the paths. They might be overgrown but they still would have made things easier then fighting through untamed forest. He admired the mortal’s persistence.

With a final sigh of relief, Papyrus set his burden down in the rear of the shrine near the storage chest. His spine gave a series of soft pops as he flexed and stretched. When he was done, he surveyed the space around him with a thoughtful expression.

“NOW WHERE TO START?” he muttered to himself.

“wait. start what?” Sans asked, Papyrus’ strange question making him forget he couldn’t be heard.

After looking around for a few more moments, Papyrus’ focus finally settled on the overrun garden at the side of the shrine.

“THAT SEEMS LIKE A GOOD SPOT.”

Sans watched, bemused, as Papyrus retrieved a number of tools from the chest. After surveying what he had, he retrieved a few other implements from his pack before taking the entire armful over to the garden. He knelt down to take a closer look at the chaos of greenery, running his hands over the plants and closely examining them and the earth they were planted in. Then he leaned over and began to yank them up, tearing out large clods of dirt and plant matter before tossing them aside.

“hey, buddy. what do you think you’re doing!?” Agitated, he stepped forward and placed a restraining hand on Papyrus’ shoulder…

…only to have it phase through him without any resistance.

Sans had never felt frustration like this before. Was he wrong about his visitor? Had Papyrus only come up here to defile what little sanctity his shrine had left? What kind of sense would that make?

Sans began to pace, hovering over and around his guest, his gauzy robes fluttering with his movements. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way to stop him. Papyrus could do anything he wanted here and there was nothing Sans could do.

“THERE ARE TOO MANY WEEDS, AND THE PLANTS ARE TOO CLOSE TOGETHER,” Papyrus muttered, grunting with effort as he pulled up a particularly deep rooted plant. Sans stopped pacing, listening to Papyrus in surprise. “NEED TO CLEAR SOME SPACE TO LET THEM GROW.”

Calming, Sans took a closer look at what Papyrus was doing. True to his word, Sans realized that while it may have appeared random, there was a definite process to Papyrus’ method. Most of the plants he was pulling up WERE weeds, as far as Sans could tell, and even though he did also remove some of the flowers, Sans saw that most of those were wilted and sick looking.

He was trying to fix the garden?

Why would he do that?

This turn of events was even more puzzling than the idea that Papyrus might be in the middle of some act of desecration. Why would he fix the garden? The shrine was obviously abandoned, with no priest, no devotees, and as far as Papyrus knew, no god. There was simply no good reason why he would spend his time, energy, and effort for the sake of Sans’ old, decrepit home.

And yet here he was, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his skull in the summer heat as he continued to extract whatever plants he deemed unfit to remain in the garden. There was nothing in his posture or attitude that conveyed any reluctance, just a steady concentration on accomplishing the task in front of him. He even hummed tunelessly as he worked, a faint smile on his face.

The mortal seemed… content.

“heh. you’re really a strange one, buddy,” Sans said, shrugging his shoulders, “but i guess i’ll keep ya company while you work.”

Sans settled nearby in the shade of one of the small trees that dotted the space around he shrine, watching Papyrus as he continued to work. He was diligent and meticulous, his eyes never missing a single weed or sick plant. 

Time passed. It was an abnormally hot day for late spring, and the sun beat down on the top of Papyrus’ head. Sweat trickled down his skull as he continued to labor in the oppressive heat.

After a couple of hours had passed, Papyrus finally sat up from his crouch, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand and leaving behind a smear of dirt. He lowered his arm, phalanges trailing across the ground before brushing against something lying next to him. He looked down, surprised.

Sans watched with amusement as Papyrus stared at the full water skin in wonder. Not wanting the mortal to pass out from his efforts, Sans had retrieved it while he had been caught up in his work, laying it next to him with the expectation that he would need it shortly.

“WHEN DID I…?” Papyrus muttered, then shrugged before lifting the skin and drinking deeply.

Sans felt a small pang of disappointment. Of course he thought he had put it there himself. Mortals were notoriously thickheaded when it came to unusual occurrences.

Once Papyrus had finished his drink, he gave the water skin an extra squeeze, drenching his skull and soaking his shirt with some of the cool liquid inside.

“AAAH… THAT FEELS LOVELY…” he hummed out loud.

Sans’ eyes wandered over Papyrus’ broad shoulders and back, appreciating the way the thin, rough spun fabric clung to his bones.

That was rather lovely, actually.

Papyrus paused again, staring hard at the half-used skin with a thoughtful expression. It was some moments before he placed it back down and resumed his work.

He labored diligently at the small garden for most of the afternoon, only stopping when the sun became low in the sky.

Standing, Papyrus put his hands on his hips and surveyed his progress.

The garden seemed almost barren compared to when Papyrus had started, with more empty, bare earth than plant life now showing. The plants were evenly spaced far apart in small clumps, and Sans looked over the garden with a skeptical eye.

“you sure this is gonna work?” he asked, feeling disappointed at its appearance.

At least when the garden had been overgrown it had seemed vibrant and full of life, with each plant striving its hardest to survive. As far as he could tell the mortal had good intentions, but Sans was beginning to wonder if he truly knew what he was doing.

“THAT SHOULD DO. ONLY TIME WILL TELL. THE SPACE SHOULD LET THE PLANTS GROW.”

Sans eyes darted to Papyrus’ face, trying to control the faint hope that rose in his soul.

There was no way Papyrus had just answered him, right?

With a satisfied grunt, Papyrus dusted his hands off on his pants. Turning, he walked past Sans, unseeing, heading toward the front of the shrine.

Heh. Right.

Sans followed him to the front of the small building, where Papyrus sat himself on the front stoop, opening his satchel and pulling out his dinner for that evening. He was quiet while he ate. The wind soughed through the trees and the evening birds began to call as Papyrus rested, watching the peaceful scenery contentedly.

Sans sat by his side, unseen and unheard, but still enjoying the taller skeleton’s company. It had been so long. It was nice just having another person nearby to appreciate the cool of the evening with.

Once he had finished half of his food, Papyrus began to talk again, directing his conversation at no one in particular. After a while Sans began to answer, timing his comments and answers so that it felt like Papyrus was truly talking to him.

“AND THEN UNDYNE SHOWED ME THE FINE ART OF HOW TO SUPLEX A BOULDER!”

“i bet that was pretty cool.”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT! SHE HAD THAT BOULDER BEGGING FOR MERCY!”

“seems like she had it between a ROCK and a HARD place.”

Sans thought he saw Papyrus twitch, but it must have been his imagination.

“I CAN’T WAIT TO GET INTO THE ROYAL GUARD. I’M SURE UNDYNE WILL LET ME IN ANY DAY NOW.”

“i’m sure she will. you’re a pretty cool dude after all.”

Their makeshift conversation continued until the sky began to blush with the warm colors of sunset. Noticing the passing time, Papyrus stood with a regretful expression on his face.

“SADLY, I HAVE TO GET HOME. IT IS NOT GOOD TO BE OUT AFTER DARK,” he declared.

Sans felt his good mood slip into disappointment.

Strangely, instead of leaving right away, Papyrus stepped into the shrine. Sans followed him.

Without hesitation, Papyrus went straight to the raised altar in front of the worn statue. There he found his lunch box, completely empty except for the small, meticulously cleaned utensils tucked inside.

Papyrus smiled.

Sans felt his breath catch. Papyrus’ smile was brilliant, full of boundless energy and a pure delight that radiated like the sun.

“OF COURSE YOU LIKED THE COOKING OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” He declared, his loud voice making Sans start and bringing him back to the present. Papyrus took the cleaned lunch box and replaced it with the other container, still half full of his leftover dinner. “I SHALL BE SURE TO RETURN TOMORROW TO CONTINUE MY WORK.”

Sans’ soul soared. He was going to come back so soon?

Unable to help himself, he followed Papyrus out of the shrine and as far as he was able, to the path that led down to the village. As they reached the first of the stone steps, Papyrus turned back to look at the shrine one last time.

A puzzled expression crossed his face…

“WHA…?”

Sans turned to look behind him, wondering what in the world had made Papyrus react in such a way.

Oh Stars…

There was a trail of small, delicate blue flowers and new young leaves running in a path behind them to the shrine. The furthest growth, at the front step, was already fading and disappearing into shimmering light, the greenery becoming thicker the closer it got to them before terminating at Sans’ feet.

Even though he knew Papyrus couldn’t see him, Sans’ face grew hot with embarrassment. He dropped to the ground, crouching, covering his face with his veil and groaning out loud. He wished he could disappear into the voluminous robes he was dressed in.

It had been a long time since Sans had been happy enough for that to happen.

“WELL THAT IS UNUSUAL,” Papyrus mused, staring at the greenery. “IT IS VERY PRETTY THOUGH. I WILL HAVE TO INVESTIGATE FURTHER THE NEXT TIME I’M HERE!”

Sans couldn’t help but chuckle, despite his embarrassment. Of course Papyrus would just accept it as a matter of fact.

He was just too cool.

*********************

Papyrus’ regular visits became the highlight of Sans’ day.

They fell into a regular routine. When he could make it, Papyrus would arrive in the early part of the afternoon. Once there, he would begin on the project of the day, working until early evening before stopping for dinner. He would eat in silence, then chatter afterward about the events of the day and the particulars of his daily life. Then he would swap the half-full lunch box he had left over with the empty one Sans would leave on the altar for him.

Sans would accompany him throughout his visit, watching with a bemused half-smile on his face the entire time, making comment, falling easily into the pretend conversations that had now become a habit.

It soon became apparent why Papyrus was as handy as he was. He ran his own farm down in the valley efficiently. It was a modest affair with a small house, an adjacent plot for crops, a shed and even a small barn with a cow. (”MILK IS IMPORTANT FOR STRONG BONES, AFTER ALL!” Papyrus had explained) 

He led a quiet, hard-working, earnest life, but Sans quickly began to suspect that the taller skeleton didn’t have much in the way of friends. As Papyrus elaborated on the day to day events in his life, a pattern began to emerge. It seemed like on any occasion where a reasonable man or monster would expect help from his neighbors, Papyrus had gotten none.

“EVERYONE IS BUSY WITH THEIR OWN CONCERNS, AFTER ALL, ITS ONLY NATURAL,” he said once in excuse, his hands tightening over each other in his lap. Sans thought he could hear a hint of sadness in his tone, and a flare of protective irritation burst in his soul on Papyrus’ behalf. It might have been his imagination though, since a moment later Papyrus’ face lit up once more and he declared, “BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NOT A SKELETON TO LAY DOWN AND ADMIT DEFEAT, SO I FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO THINGS MYSELF!”

And he was good at it. In a matter of a few weeks, Papyrus had Sans’ small shrine looking better than it had in decades. The small garden was now a carefully cultured, gorgeous display of colorful flowers. The slightly shorter forget-me-nots surrounded the larger, abundant peonies. The smaller, more delicate periwinkle blossoms provided ground cover, a lush green dotted with blue. At the rear of it all, climbing the lattice against the wall were the morning glories, their flaring, funnel shaped blossoms greeting each day with hope and cheer.

Papyrus has fixed the pump at the stone sink and it now brought up crystal clear, clean water that filled the marble basin. Now, before every meal, Papyrus had a place he could wash up.

He had even begun work on the small shrine, using bone constructs, rope, and pure strength to pull the leaning structure back into place. Sans had marveled at his raw power, his soul fluttering as he watched Papyrus’ broad shoulders flex and tense as he pulled at the ropes attached to the top corners of the small shrine. Once he was satisfied that the tilt of the small building had been corrected, he secured the rope to the ground to keep it steady. Then he spent the rest of the afternoon bracing and fortifying it to keep it from sloping again.

There had been a breathless moment as Papyrus had dismissed his magic, releasing the ropes that held the small shrine in place. Thankfully, it hadn’t budged.

Sans had beamed with pride. His mortal had done a splendid job.

“NYEH HEH HEH! ANOTHER VICTORY FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” Papyrus crowed triumphantly.

“yup. you’re the coolest, Pap.”

Sans had tried his best to control himself when the mortal was around. No matter how hard he tried to contain it, though, every now and again Papyrus would turn to see a familiar trail of flowers and new leaves winding behind him.

“I STILL DO NOT UNDERSTAND THAT,” Sans had heard him murmur to himself once, “BUT IT REALLY IS QUITE LOVELY.”

Sans found it quite embarrassing, if he were honest.

Papyrus didn’t exactly help, either. Every now and again the tall skeleton would do something… say something that made it seem as though he COULD hear or see Sans. A sudden turn of the head in his direction, a slight change in expression when Sans used a particularly creative pun. Sometimes Papyrus even seemed to answer Sans’ questions outright.

One such incident happened just as Papyrus was finishing his half of dinner one evening. They had been enjoying the cool quiet of early evening when Sans had finally voiced the question that had been nagging him since the day Papyrus had begun working on the garden.

“why are you even doing all this?” Sans murmured, staring at Papyrus’ profile.

He liked looking at Papyrus like this, the light of the setting sun painting the white bone of his face with a lovely blush of color and throwing his chiseled features into sharp relief. The sturdy, determined jaw, defined cheekbones, and the distinct line of his nose ridge were all a glaring contrast to Sans’ own, softer features.

Sans didn’t expect to get an answer.

“WHEN I STUMBLED ONTO THIS PLACE,” Papyrus began, breathing a contented sigh as he gazed out into the forested tree line, “I FELT SUCH A SENSE OF PEACE HERE. I LIKE THIS PLACE. BUT IT ALSO FELT SO LONELY AND NEGLECTED. I JUST HAD TO DO SOMETHING TO HELP. IT SEEMED… SEEMS LIKE THE RIGHT THING TO DO.”

Sans felt time stop. That response was way too direct to have been coincidence…

Then Papyrus started. He looked to where Sans was sitting next to him, blinking owlishly. After a few moments, he rubbed at the space between his eyes tiredly.

“I MUST BE MORE TIRED THAN I THOUGHT. I SHOULD PROBABLY GO HOME NOW.”

Sans thought he was used to the plummeting disappointment by now.

He wasn’t.

Regardless, it was a routine they both seemed to enjoy. Papyrus took real pride in his work, and Sans took comfort in his presence, mostly content to be near him, even if he couldn’t perceive him. He never thought that one being could bring so much life and vitality into the silent, dull space of his existence, and his gratitude grew with each passing day.

He began to feel hope again.

And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Papyrus stopped coming.

Sans wasn’t concerned at first. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a few days’ space between Papyrus’ visits, but then one day became three… which then became five…

Sans began to worry.

Had something happened to Papyrus? Sans was fully aware of how fragile mortals could be. Their lives were short, and prone to all sorts of accidents and ailments. Was Papyrus ill? Hurt? Worse?

But Papyrus was young… strong… vital…

The days stretched on. Where once Sans had passed decades without notice, now each hour without a visit from Papyrus crawled by with painful slowness. Where before he was merely idle, Sans now became listless, wandering around the temple grounds, restless and agitated. He never thought he would curse his inability to leave the small space around his home, but now his frustration became almost unbearable.

What the hell kind of god was he if all he could do was wait and wonder?

And as time passed, another thought emerged, gnawing painfully at his soul and filling his mind with doubt.

Maybe Papyrus had just moved on?

As he considered this possibility, he became more and more convinced that this was exactly what had happened.

Papyrus had forgotten him.

Once he came to the realization, it made a lot of sense. Mortals were fickle. They forgot. After all, the whole reason his shrine had been a rundown mess was because the world had moved on, away from him and onto other gods, other priorities. He didn’t even remember what he was the god OF anymore. It was simply the natural progression of the world.

It was his fault for hoping, really.

This conclusion should have made things easier. Acceptance should have been the first step toward resigning himself to what was bound to happen anyways. He was a waning god, fated to fade and disappear, with no mortal memory to recall that he ever existed in the first place. It was only natural that, like every other mortal, Papyrus had left him and gone on with his life. It would be best if Sans also moved on.

Sans tried. He tried to forget Papyrus, to file him away with the thousands of other mortals he had met and interacted with in his long existence. Mortals came and went. Papyrus just had the privilege of being the last one.

However, the temple grounds were now full of reminders. The flourishing garden, the main building of the shrine, still in need of repairs but now standing straight and sturdy— all had been fixed, cared for and maintained by Papyrus. As Sans wandered aimlessly around his home… his prison… he found he couldn’t escape the remnants of Papyrus’ presence there.

He even found himself staring at his own reflection in the filled stone basin, recalling the curious, intent look Papyrus had on his face as he examined the pump mechanism. His expressions were always so dynamic and vibrant, so interesting. Sans missed him. Something dripped into the water, disturbing the image there. Sans trailed his fingers across the water’s surface to disrupt the ripples caused by the falling drops before turning, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks.

Two more weeks passed. Summer was in full swing, bringing with it long, lazy days and the high, reedy singing of cicadas. Sans lay on the roof of the shrine, unable to fall into his usual doze, staring morosely up at the clear, azure sky. He found himself wondering if he could sink into that vast blue, let it absorb and consume him till he was just another part of the natural world around him. He could become the playful sigh of a breeze, perhaps, or the good-humored rustle of tree leaves.

Maybe then he could go see Papyrus.

Perhaps it was time for him to finally and truly let go.

Sans took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a moment he thought he could feel it, feel himself dissipating, spreading out, his thoughts becoming hazy and indistinct. A feeling of peace began to steal over him. This was okay. It would be better this way.

A twig snapped.

Sans opened his eyes, sucking in air as though he hadn’t been breathing. His thoughts snapped back together, coming into focus with a sudden jarring clarity that confused him. He sat up. What had that been? He looked down at his lap and for a brief moment thought he could see his robes through the bones of his hands. He blinked. No, they were perfectly fine. He raised his phalanges to his face, opening and closing them a couple times to be sure.

Was that just his imagination?

Another loud snap came from inside the forest and Sans’ soul leapt.

What in the world?

He stood, watching the edge of the forest with wide eyes, holding his breath, barely daring to hope.

A skeleton came stumbling out of the woods.

It was Papyrus.

Casting a look of annoyance behind him into the shrubs, Papyrus muttered something about nature’s lack of manners and disregard for personal space. Sans’ soul tightened.

It was Papyrus.

Papyrus began picking burrs off his pants.

Sans stared at him, his still-hazy mind trying to process what he was seeing. He had been so sure he had been forgotten. Had been so convinced he was completely alone again that he had trouble believing it.

It was Papyrus.

Straightening, Papyrus turned toward the shrine and began to walk toward Sans and the main building.

Sans couldn’t contain himself any longer.

With two light steps, he pushed off the roof toward the approaching skeleton. His magic slowed his fall as he descended toward Papyrus with his arms outstretched.

“Papyrus!” Sans called.

Papyrus looked up.

Their eyes met.

A look of wonder came over Papyrus’ expression as he stared up at Sans. Then, against all expectation, he took a step forward and raised his arms, catching Sans neatly before he landed.

Sans’ breath caught.

Papyrus could see him.

His soul overflowed with joy.

Sans’ hands brushed against Papyrus’ cheeks. They were every bit as warm as he had expected them to be. Papyrus blinked at the touch.

“YOU’RE REAL,” he breathed.

“heh. yeah.” Sans didn’t trust himself to say more quite yet.

Papyrus gently set him down, still looking at him with awe.

“I THOUGHT MAYBE I HAD BEEN SEEING AND HEARING THINGS.” Papyrus’ words were softer than normal. “BUT YOU’RE REAL.”

Sans straightened and tipped Papyrus a playful wink.

“sure am. in the flesh, you might say… or maybe not.”

Papyrus’ face twitched as he fought off a grin.

“OH MY GOD, THAT WAS TERRIBLE,” he declared.

Sans laughed.


End file.
